The Khajiit in the Iron Helmet
by TheAmbivalentCat
Summary: When a fisherman finds a baby Khajiit in an iron helmet, he takes him home and raises him as his own. Fourteen years later, when that Khajiit finds a strange ring buried in a deer's gut he sets a course of events that changes his entire life.
1. Chapter 1

The Khajiit in the Iron Helmet

_My first fanfiction, so please be nice. :) Just wrote this one to see if anyone liked it, if you do please review, it would really make my day, and also tell me if you want chapter 2! Happy reading. :D_

The fisherman gazed up at the night sky, thinking how peaceful it looked, and how beautiful the harsh lands of Skyrim really were. Suddenly his silence was interrupted by a gentle splashing. He looked over the side of his small boat, and saw a war helmet, the kind with horns, turned upside down in the water. A quiet mewing came from within, and as he peered cautiously into the helmet, two large green eyes looked up at him. He gasped, because within that armor lay a tiny little cat-man, an infamous Khajiit of Elysweyr.

FOURTEEN YEARS LATER, RORIKSTEAD

"Alarik! Get out here!" A brawny looking man bellowed into the dark recesses of his house as a sleepy, blinking Khajiit stumbled out of his room. "About time. Now get your boots on, lad, we're going hunting." Ten minutes later the teenage cat and his foster father were walking into the wilderness, bows on backs and daggers in sheaths. Torbik looked at the Khajiit walking in front of him. It still felt like yesterday when he had found that kitten afloat in a helmet. He had taken him home, showed him to his beloved wife Ellen, and they raised him as their own, as they had never been blessed with children. A few years after, Ellen had died of a wasting disease. Alarik and Torbik had done all they could to save her, but to no avail, and the young boy had never been the same. They had sold their small house in Dawnstar and moved to Rorikstead. Torbik was suddenly pulled out of his memories but Alarik calling his name. "Father! Father? Why are you waiting?"

"Sorry, lad. Just losing my self in memories again." Torbik smiled at his son, admiring how tall and strong he had grown, and his extraordinary stealth and senses from his Khajiit heritage. Alarik pointed toward some fresh animal tracks in the ground.

"Deer!" exclaimed Alarik.

Hours later, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, the duo returned, a deer slung across Alarik's shoulders. They sat down outside the house and began skinning the meat. As Alarik slit open the belly to remove the entrails, he saw something shining within and pulled it out, frowning slightly. "Father... look." Torbik peered over his sons shoulder and gazed in at a blackened ring with an uncut ruby set in it.

"How much do you think its worth, father?" queried Alarik.

"Oh, I wouldn't sell it lad. Won't be worth much. Keep it, and maybe you'll remember these hunting trips."

Two weeks later Alaric was returning from buying new hunting supplies from Whiterun, as it had a safer route to get to than Markarth, although being further away. He rode slowly on Falion, the horse he had found and named at a wrecked caravan years ago. He was tired, and couldn't wait to get back home to Torbik to share a cup of hot mead and trade stories round the fire. He took a sip from the water skin around his waist and and touched the ring he had slung around his neck on a leather strip. Just up ahead he could see Rorikstead, and his house. However, something was wrong. White horses were chained up outside, but they were huge and bred for battle. They had weapons tied to their saddles. Tying Falion up a little way away from the gates, he crept toward the back entrance of his house and peeked through the window, trying to see if Torbik was in there

Two men in bright golden armor were talking to Torbik. He was sweating and looking around nervously. Alarik had never seen his father like this before, he was usually level headed and calm. It scared him. Suddenly one of the men got angry and pulled out a long, sharp dagger. It was then that Alarik got a look at the pointy ears and sharply angles faces that he realized that these men were elves. And then he remembered seeing armor like this, worn by a group of elves walking along the main road with another elf in dark robes. Torbik had told him that they were Thalmor, and then later explained that they were the scum who had forced the Empire to ban Talos worshiping. Looking back at the elf who had pulled the dagger on his father, Alaric saw that his father was pointing at the door, asking them to leave. Then, as fast as a dragon diving for its prey, the angry elf punched Torbik in the face, sending him sprawling on the floor. Alarik could hear what he was saying if he focused his hearing hard enough.

"Where is the artifact? I'm not going to ask again, Nord scum, where is it?"

"Please... I don't know what you're talking about!"

There was a horrific crack as one of the Thalmor smashed the pommel of his dagger into Torbik's nose. He wiped blood away with the back of his hand.

"You're lying to us, Nord! Our finest mages tracked this ring down with the most powerful of seeking spells!" Summoning fire to his hand, he allowed it to lick against Torbik's cheek, leaving the skin shiny and red. Realizing what the elf was talking about, Torbik stayed quiet, knowing he would get his son into deep trouble if he admitted the truth.

As Alarik watched horrified, the Thalmor with the blazing hand buried his dagger deep into his father's gut. Blood seeped through the threadbare cloth of his shirt.

"Should have told us, vermin" The elf snarled and walked out the door, the other Thalmor pausing to surreptitiously place a small bottle of healing potion by Torbik's prone body.

The moment the horses left Rorikstead, Alarik rushed into his home, tears matting his facial fur as he carefully lifted his father into his lap.

"Don't worry Father, I'll get help!" he sobbed.

"Listen lad, there isn't much time." wheezed Torbik

"No, no, I can still save you"

"I'm fading too fast..."

Alarik howled in despair as he realized it was true. He watched, tears rolling down his furry face as his only remaining family died in his arms.

Later that night Alarik lay in bed, sleepless, crying until his heart ached, and then crying again, holding the ring that had brought so much sorrow into his life in his hands. He didn't know what to do. Where would he go now? Rorikstead was the only home he knew. Perhaps he could travel to Whiterun. He had befriended a few of the guards, maybe they could help him. But the Thalmor wanted this ring, and by the Gods, Alarik was not going to give it to him. That night, in his dreams, the single word that passed through his mind over and over again was 'Revenge'.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello everyone! Thank you very much for reading, 31 views in one night! Two very nice people left some positive reviews, so I think I'm gonna go ahead and publish chapter 2. Here it is!_

The next morning Alarik, heart heavy with sadness. He glanced at the sheet that covered poor Torbik's body and fought back tears. Slowly, he pulled his boots on and went riding with Torbik for the last time.

At last he found a small grove, sleepy and secluded, and it was there he made his father's funeral pyre. As it blazed away, Alarik hoped that Torbik stood at the gates of Sovngarde itself. He wiped away tears and gazed up at the sky, cursing the Thalmor bastards who had taken his father from him. At the point where all fires seem to burn brighter and stronger for a moment, Alarik thought he saw a man shaped wisp of smoke billow out of his father's blazing corpse.

When he returned home, the tear sodden cat began to pack a small bag, in which he put the steel dagger that the blacksmith in Whiterun had presented Alarik with when he went to buy supplies for the first time, some small loaves of bread, the bow his father had made him when he came of age, and his water skin. He locked the door for the last time and saddled up Falion. As he trotted away from Rorikstead, Alarik glanced for one last time at the sleepy hamlet that had been his home.

Alarik pondered upon where he could go. Perhaps journey back to Elsweyr? But he knew nothing of Khajiit culture. He had been brought up a Nord. And Whiterun was the furthest he had ever been from home. Perhaps he could find a sellsword with the meagre coin he had. Spurring Falion on, he headed toward Whiterun and aid.

He had forgotten the smell that always hit him as he entered. The smell of people, and unwashed bodies, and animal muck. The constant noise of people talking. His ears flattened against his head as various people swore at him, telling him to get his thieving nose out of their pockets. He had also forgotten the abuse that Khajiits received. Spotting the woman Adrianne, the smith who was always kind to him, in a gruff sort of way, he made his way over to her.

"Where could I find a sellsword?" he asked quietly. The woman looked at him, frowning. "What would you want a sellsword for? No-one you'd want to get involved with here, lad"

Alarik looked around. She was right. He didn't have the gut to talk to anyone with a killing tendency.

On the road from Riverwood, Alarik saw in the distance, a man fleeing from Imperial soldiers. The cat concentrated his gaze, and saw the man had shoulder length blonde hair and was wearing a chain-mail cuirass, with a blue cloak wrapped around him. A stormcloak! But before he could get off the road, the pursuing soldiers had caught up with the man and began trying to restrain him, clubbing him with the butts of their weapons. Torbik had always told Alarik that Stormcloaks would help him if he needed it. And when Alarik had got lost, at the tender age of six, he had wandered across a patrol of Stormcloaks, who had promptly brought him back to Torbik. Maybe this stormcloak could use some help.

Acting on the heat of the moment, Alarik slid of Falion and sprinted toward the group of struggling men. He hacked his way into the midst of the skirmish, and stabbed, and span, and bit. One man tried to run him through on his sword, but had a dagger shoved between his ribs and his eyes scratched useless. His battle rage clearing, Alarik shook his head. He had never been in a fight before. Five men lay dead around him, two killed by his claw and dagger, the other three by the blonde man's axe. Speaking of which... Alarik looked round at the man, who was looking back at him warily.

"Hello... I'm Alarik"

"Ralof" replied the blonde man. Alarik could now get a closer look at him. He was tall, and his armor had a battered look to it.

"Where have you come from?" questioned Alarik.

"I was caught by an Imperial patrol. We... were taken to Helgen. They were executing us... But a dragon attacked! Straight out of the legends. Only a few of us escaped."

A dragon! Torbik used to terrify Alarik with the tales of the fearsome beasts who could kill you with a word.

"I guess I should thank you for saving my hide back there." The Nord was speaking again. "You're a pretty damn good fighter, cat."

"Thanks." Alarik was glad he had saved this tall man with the axe. He seemed kind.

"You know, I never caught your name."

"Alarik."

"Well Alarik, it is a pleasure to meet you. And now I must be going. I need to find my Jarl Ulfric, and tell my sister what in Oblivion is happening."

"Please, wait! I need your help. A while ago, I found this ring, and soon after Thalmor were interrogating my father. They... they killed him." Alarik felt a burning tear gather at the corner of his eye. Ralof looked on, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

"Look, lad there's not much I can do. Let me see this ring for a start."

Slowly, Alarik pulled the ring from under his shirt and placed it in Ralof's callused palm. The Nord frowned and peered at it closely.

"There's something unnatural about this, lad." he muttered under under his breath. "Where did you find it?"

"In the belly of a deer." said Alarik.

"Something almost... demonic about this... I know someone in Riverwood who might know something about this."

"Who? Can you take me to them?" said Alarik excitedly

"Come one, I'll introduce you to him." The pair made their way toward Riverwood, the sun setting behind their backs.


	3. Chapter 3

_Well, hello there. Extra long chapter from me today, so dont expect to see another one for at least a few days while I recover! :P Hope you enjoy this one, please tell me what you think of it so far and anything you think could be improved, it would really help! Thanks guys :D_

"Please, sit down" said a thin, willowy little Bosmer who went by the name of Faendal. Ralof had introduced Alarik to the elf, and they were assembled in the tiny house around an equally tiny table.

"I'm no expert with jewellery, but I've had... experiences with valuables before." He frowned, and glared at the ring like he expected it to divulge its secrets in that moment. "It has the oddest magical aura I've ever seen!" he exclaimed. "Where did you find this?"

"Inside a deer's gut." replied Alarik, beginning to tire of repeating his tale.

"Ah! A fellow hunter!" Faendal smiled up at Alarik, showing off those glossy white teeth that the Bosmer possessed.

"Look, I really need to find my sister Gerdur, why don't you leave the ring with Faendal and you can get it in the morning, lad." said Ralof, passing a hand through his long hair.

"I'd prefer not to, if you don't mind." blurted out Alarik, shivering for some reason at the thought of leaving his ring with a stranger. Wait. When had he began thinking of the ring as his own? All it had brought to him was pain and sorrow. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he carefully placed the ring in his pocket and thanked Faendal for examining it.

"Wait! Maybe you could go to Whiterun, see if you could get one of the priestesses to look at it. Or even the court wizard!"suggested the elf, watching them from his chair.

"It would be best not to walk into Whiterun hold dressed in stormcloak armour." replied Ralof. "Goodnight Faendal."

The following morning Alarik said farewell to Ralof and began to saddle up Falion.

"Wait! Wait!" shouted Gerdur. "We need someone to tell the Jarl of Whiterun about the dragon! Riverwood is in great danger!" she ran up to Alarik as he mounted his horse. "We were thinking you could, as you have a horse?" she asked.

"I'll do it." replied Alarik, thinking it a fitting way to thank these people for their hospitality.

As he got back onto the road, he realized he was heading back to the place he was leaving. But then again, his idea of leaving Skyrim was a mere whim based on his furious sorrow. Maybe he could make a new life here. The road was clear of any beasts or bandits, and for the first time in three days Alarik felt relaxed and less inclined to ride off and kill all the Thalmor. He could see Whiterun in the distance, as the afternoon sun blazed down on his back. Suddenly he heard a loud roar. He nearly dived into the bushes as he thought it was the dragon, but saw instead a group of warriors hacking at a giant, who was swinging his club wildly. A tall man in steel armour thrust his sword towards the giants leg, and the iron got stuck in the meaty hunk. He looked up as the giant reached down to crush his head, but Alarik had already leaped upon the giants back from Falion's saddle and was stabbing at the hulking, meaty goat stealer's eyes. The giant gave out a roar of pain and began topple over. Dropping from the giants back, he noticed that one of the warriors was in fact a woman, with fiery red hair and war paint smeared across her cheeks in three parallel stripes.

"You handled yourself well there, Khajiit." she said as she clapped Alarik on the shoulder. He blushed under his fur as he could smell her scent, a musky, pine sort of aroma.

"Th- thanks." he stuttered trying not to fall over.

He pushed open the huge doors to Dragonsreach, and made his way inside to the spacious hall within. It was then he heard the scrape of a sword being pulled from its sheath and he looked toward the noise as a sword was shoved in his face.

"You'd better have a damn good reason for interrupting the Jarl, cat" snarled a ferocious looking Dunmer as she pushed the sword ever so slightly more harder into Alarik's cheek.

"Riverwood is in... danger!" he wheezed, trying not to breathe to hard for fear the small woman with the large pointy sword would push the sword straight through his face.

"Well, that explains why the guards let you in" she replied, not at all fazed that she had nearly stabbed him.

Hours later, after much debating from the Jarl with his steward, and the blank stares from the guards, Alarik fell into a bed he had bought at the Drunken Huntsman. The following morning he looked at the note the wizard had given him. Alarik thought that maybe finding the damn wizards stupid 'dragonstone' maybe he would look at the ring.

After about an hour of riding up to the forbidding stone structure up on the icy hill, Alarik was really beginning to feel the frost sinking into him. Then he heard it. The clatter of an arrow bouncing on the stone beside him. He quickly dived behind a tall standing stone and tried to see past the fog and mist. Obviously whoever was shooting at him had a much better line of sight because the mist ended at the top of the stone steps that led into Bleak Falls Barrow. With a smooth action, Alarik slotted an arrow into his bow and took careful aim at where the arrows were being fired from. There was a gurgled cry and a thud as the arrow hit home. But where were the others? It was never good when you couldn't see who was trying to kill you. Turning around quickly as he heard a roar, Alarik was faced by the most bad tempered looking man he had ever seen charging at him with two sharp swords. Reacting quickly, the cat pulled his dagger out of his belt and threw it as hard as he could at the man's unprotected head, remembering the knife throwing lesson his father had given him. Alarik looked at the mess the knife had made of the man's face and suddenly felt incredibly alone. He was just a Khajiit far from his home, he wasn't a hero or a warrior. He curled up in a ball behind a tall stone and wished that he was far away from this horrible ruin. After ten minutes of cowering behind that freezing cold rock, he got up. He would need a sword if he was going to fight the rest of these bandits, and pried the heavy sword from the man's cold dead hand.

Two bandits waiting for their target atop the steps of Bleak Falls Barrow were very surprised when a tall Khajiit charged at them with a sword in one hand and his long, sharp claws in the other. Wiping the blood from his sword, Alarik caught his breath at the top of the stairs before opening the door to the tomb within.

It was quite warm inside,and Alarik could see a fire at the far end. He could also hear voices. He crouched low, and surveyed his surroundings. There were several dead skeevers littered about the place, and a dead bandit lying half off of what looked like an altar. His throat had been slit. Alarik tried not to gag at the smell from all of the rotting carrion about him. Slowly creeping forward, his hand on his sword at all times, the cat wondered what lay in the depths of this place. Sticking to the shadows, Alarik managed to get past the chatting men quietly. As he went deeper, it got much, much colder, and he pulled his cloak tightly about him.

Alarik had lost track of the time. It was almost pitch black down here, and he had no matches on him. Suddenly he heard a voice crying for help. Creeping forward, Alarik peered into a large room. A hole in the ceiling allowed a tiny crack of light to shine through, which illuminated the horrors within. Webs were slung everywhere, and desiccated corpses hung in sticky bags from the walls. Egg sacs littered the place. At the far end of the room, a man was stuck to a wall of web, covering the only entrance. As Alarik walked into the room, the man whispered.

"No! Its still here somewhere! Stay back!" As he said so Alarik heard a scuttling noise and out of a web lined hole, the biggest spider he had ever seen heaved its self out of its hidden lair. Alarik shouted in fear and shoved his sword between the spider's eyes. Foul juices spurted out from between its mandibles.

"Now cut me down! I know where the secret of this place is, and how to get to it!" said the man, who on further inspection, appeared to be a Dunmer. Walking forward, he sliced the webs holding the man to the wall, who promptly pulled his sword out and held it at the cat's throat. That was twice this week he had been nearly beheaded. The lying little thief walked slowly backwards, keeping his sword pointed at Alarik the whole time. When he had reached a fair enough distance, the little man turned and sprinted right into what was probably the most horrific creature Alarik had ever seen. A putrid stink wafted up the corridor as the thing opened its mouth and moaned. It pulled an ancient looked war axe from its rotting belt and hacked the little Dunmer to pieces before he could even scream. Alarik looked away, trying not to throw up. The creature that now stood before him could only be described as a walking corpse. Its flesh was old and wrinkled, but its eyes shone with a fierce blue light. The cat backed away from it slowly, and tripped over a corpse of the spider, and scrambled away on his hands and feet. Backing into a wall, he closed his eyes and prepared to be reunited with his father as the long dead warrior raised its axe and bared its rotted teeth in a gruesome parody of a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

_Welcome, welcome, please make yourself comfortable! Here is the fourth installment of my little fanfiction. I'm really glad you guys and gals out there are enjoying it, like always, please leave a review, it would really help with the development of the story if I know what people would like to see. Thank you very much, and enjoy! :D :D _

Alarik watched the blade soar down toward his face, slightly blunted by time. His very perception of time slowed down and he began to think about Faendal and Ralof. He would miss them. Would they miss... him? He'd never had friends before. Most people stayed away from him, or teased him. Rolling quickly to the side, he let the blade smash into the wall behind him, shattering with a tinkling sound. The corpse-warrior stabbed clumsily at Alarik's stomach, no finesse behind it, just brute unnatural force. He yanked his sword out of his belt (he hadn't had time to draw his weapons when he first saw the corpse, he was too shocked) and shoved it straight through the creature's face. The light in the eyes went out. The body crumpled. And then there was just a Khajiit, panting for breath and leaning against his sword.

At last, after hours of walking and sneaking past those... things, Alarik came into a huge cave. He looked around in wonder, and his gaze fixed on the huge wall in front of him. He could hear a faint chanting, and a symbol on this wall seemed to glow. Suddenly his gaze was broken as a mass of bats flew down over his head, a cacophony of screeching, and the Khajiit shouted in surprise and ducked. His gaze being drawn back to the wall, the chanting grew louder as he stumbled closer. A blinding white light shot through his gaze, making him clutch his head in pain. A mental drill seemed to tear through his consciousness. He fell to the floor, and all was silent.

"Ahhhhhh... My head.." groaned Alarik after he pulled himself off the hard stone floor. His mouth felt like he had been eating cotton. Right. Dragonstone. Where could he look. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the scrape- the very sound he had learned to dread- of a coffin being pushed open from the inside. He pulled his sword from his belt and prepared to fight. One of the corpse-warriors stood up, pulling a huge greatsword from its back. Wait. This one seemed to be... Taller. And... Its eyes looked different. Then it shouted at Alarik. It flung him across the room, and the very stones seemed to shake. It was a bone shattering roar of power. "shit" said Alarik in a very small voice. He looked up, as the warrior charged at him. Just as it reached him, he barely managed to raise his sword in time. It sunk hilt deep into the corroded chest plates of the corpse. It shuddered and screeched, and its eyes glowed bright as the sun. Just as quickly as it started. Now to find the dragonstone.

Alarik stood up from his position under the felled corpse, and looked around. Then he glanced at the corpse and looked away again. And looked back at it. "Oh no. No way in Oblivion am I digging around in that." he muttered to himself, but then again, maybe if he got this damn stone for the wizard, he might be more inclined to look at the ring.

After digging around in the squishy corpse, Alarik found a slab, with an inscription on it. It was roughly the size of his chest. How was he meant to carry that thing all the way down the hill and to Whiterun?! He sat down in despair. Torbik would've known what to do. He always did. Alarik felt tears gathering in his eyes again. He was a grown man/cat now! He would not cry!

The doors to Dragonsreach were flung open with a bang. A thin Khajiit stood between them, holding a slab of stone. Alarik pulled himself into the wizards laboratory and let the stone fall to the ground with a thump.

"Ah, you found the stone I see. A cut above the usually rabble the Jarl sends my way." said the wizard, looking away from the strange figure bent poring over a map, dressed in supple looking leather armour.

"Why did you not tell me of those corpse-warriors within that gods forsaken tomb?" asked Alarik, fuming.

"Oh, the draugr? No need." replied the wizard airily.

"I was nearly killed!"

"Well, I did warn you."

"Right well, I don't suppose you would mine taking a look at something I have, as a form of repayment?"

"Of course! Let me see it" the wizard cleared a space on the cramped desk.

"Farengar, don't you have more pressing matters to attend to?" asked the mysterious figure in leather.

"Yes, yes, just let me have a look at this." Alarik placed the ring on the table, as Farengar pulled out a crystal that seemed to magnify what you saw through it. He also pulled out some delicate instruments and began to prod it, noting what he saw on a scrap of parchment.

"Farengar! Come quick!" the small Dunmer who had nearly removed Alarik's head burst into the room. "A dragon has attacked the Western Watchtower!"

"What? A dragon?! What was it doing?" asked the small wizard excitedly.

"The Jarl wants to see you. And you, cat." she replied, glancing at Alarik before walking away.

It was decided. Alarik would go with some guards and Irileth (the Dunmer woman) and kill this dragon! Alarik felt his gut clench with nerves.

"There you are. This ring of yours is fascinating! I haven't finished looking at it though, I can return it to you tomorrow." exclaimed Farengar, popping up behind Alarik like an apparition.

"If I'm still alive by tomorrow." Said Alarik glumly.

"Nonsense! You'll be fine. Just stay away from its teeth!" smiled the court wizard.

Alarik met Irileth and the guards outside the destroyed watchtower, and searched for survivors. A frightened guard crouched outside the watchtower door.

"No! Its still here somewhere! Ali tried to make a run for it and was grabbed!" As he uttered those words, a haunting cry floated from the heavens. All heads turned to look at the dragon that swooped down toward them, fire billowing out from its jaws. Alarik gave a startled little cry and ran up to the top of the watchtower and began shooting out a hail of arrows. The dragon landed, a cloud of dust in its wake as it skidded along the ground. It was wounded, but no less dangerous. A guard was grabbed by the head and shook violently until the crack of bones echoed around the watchtower. Irileth barely managed to throw herself away from the gout of fire loosed in her direction, he hair singed. Flying unsteadily, the dragon flew up, until it was face to face with Alarik. He squeaked in fear and did the first thing that came into his mind. He leaped onto the dragon's forehead (away from the teeth, you see) and stabbed his sword deep into its brain. Khajiit and dragon fell like a ston toward the ground. There was a bone shaking thump as the dragon ploughed into the earth. Alarik tumbled off the dragon onto the ground, exhausted. Suddenly he saw the flesh of the dragon burst into flame and a white energy flowed into him. His vision filled with light, and he heard the Nord guards whispering these words:

"Dragonborn.."

"The Dovahkin has returned to Skyrim!"

And then he slept.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello and welcome to the fifth and final chapter of my fan fiction. Thanks so much for all of the reviews, favorites, sacrifices, ect, ect. This is not an end to the character Alarik, just a brief pause. Don't worry, I still have many plans for Alarik. Many plans. *insert ominous crack of thunder here* I may do another fan fiction about him, but later in his story as Dragonborn. Hope you enjoy it. :D :D _

Alarik awoke in a bed, sheets made of the finest silk, and a scruffy, unshaven man looking down at him. Whimpering softly as he propped himself up on the pillows, his head exploded in a white light, feeling like the worst hangover he had ever experienced (others coming from the rare days Torbik had to go out, Alarik would often have a few bottles of the mead his father kept stashed away for special occasions.

"Morning, friend." the small man spoke in a rough, hoarse sounding voice.

"Where am I? Who are you?" questioned Alarik, still feeling like drunken gods rampaged throughout his head.

"Just a healer, here to see that your good health remained good whilst you slept. You see, not many people have had much experience with the Dragonborn."

"Oh" came the reply, before the Khajiit fell back into a deep sleep.

He woke feeling refreshed, but thirsty as one hundred Nords in a mead hall. Spotting a tankard of watered down ale, he swigged it down and unfolded the parchment that had been pinned down by the bottle. It read as followed:

Alarik,

I have examined your ring in great detail, and it seems it is a very old relic, dating back to the end of the second era. I found out who made it and for what reason as well, using methods that must remain a secret. It was made by a very powerful, yet nearly unknown Altmer mage called Aideadilil Silinthar. He created it with the intentions of using it to rule all of Mer kind. What became of that plan, however, I do not know. This ring was made using ancient soul trapping methods. A vast intelligence lurks within that cold band of metal, but I have neither the skill nor courage to let my mind wander within its mysterious depths. It works by altering the very fabric of reality, but I do not know how to use it, and perhaps it is best if no-one did.

Farengar Secret-Fire.

Lying beside this note was the ring its self, twinkling innocently from under the blackened marks. Alarik brought it up to eye level and stared at it. It was obvious that someone had tried to destroy it, but to no effect. Suddenly he heard voices from below his bed chamber, through a crack in the floorboards, a distinguished, haughty sounding voice floating through.

"I need to see a certain Alarik Torbiksson. It is urgent." said the voice. It had a silky quality that made you want to listen to it forever. A guards voice, rough and common, broke the spell.

"You'll need to speak to the guard on duty, elf."

Alarik heard that last word with dread, for who else could it be but the Thalmor? He jumped out of the sheets silently and pulled on the armor he had been wearing yesterday. It still smelled of smoke and ashes. His bow and sword lay on the table across the room. Grabbing the bow and slinging it onto his back, he left his sword behind as it would be too much of a hindrance anyway, and he was much better with a bow, he stopped as he heard the Thalmor agent talk to the guard stationed outside his room.

"Let me past this instance, Nord!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that." replied the guard, as still and steady as a rock. The scraping noise of a dagger being pulled out of a hidden sheath heralded the slight gasp of the surprised guard.

"I'm going to ask again. Let me through, unless you want your guts decorating the walls" The door creaked open, and the elf stepped through, dagger held at his side. There was no one in sight. Above the door, Alarik sweated silently as every muscle in his body quivered from the strain of holding him up, only supported by a thin beam. Very slowly he lowered himself down, and just as his feet touched the floor with a near silent rustle, the Altmer turned around, eyes wide and dagger at the ready. A swift uppercut stopped him in his tracks, and Alarik bound him with the cord from a tapestry and shoved the unconscious Thalmor inside a wardrobe. He walked out of his bed chamber and looked around for any more Thalmor.

"I can assure you, I let no elves into this hall" said the guard outside Dragonsreach.

"Hmmf." said Alarik, not satisfied. Outside Whiterun, he mounted Falion and rode to Riverwood, hoping to consult Faendal about what to do about his small Thalmor problem. When he arrived, the elf was not at home so he hung around the house for ten minutes. Still no luck. Suddenly he heard a great rumbling and echoing noise reverberate around the mountains. Alarik looked wildly about for the source of the sound, and looked at the Throat of the World, Skyrim's tallest mountain. The sound originated from there. Several villagers from about Riverwood emerged from houses to gape wordlessly at the great mountain looming in the distance.

"That's the Greybeards calling the dragonborn" muttered an old woman rocking in an equally gnarled and ancient rocking chair outside her house.

"What did you say?" exclaimed Alarik.

"Well, thats what the legends say that sound is" The old woman smiled up at the Khajiit, not a tooth in her gum.

"And where can I find the Greybeards?" queried Alarik. Wordlessly, the woman pointed up at the colossal mountain.

The road to Ivarstead was long and tiring. As Falion trotted at a steady pace along the cobbled road Alarik could see the sunlight glint of something gold and bright every so often. As the object grew closer, it separated into a patrol of golden clad Thalmor, armed with sharp looking blades. Alarik threw himself off Falion. He grabbed the horses head and looked into his deep, brown eyes.

"Go. Go back to the stables" whispered Alarik. He slapped the horse on the leg and watched him gallop off. Looking around for a place to hide, his gaze fell upon the bank the road rested on. He jumped down from the slightly raised road and crouched under the overhang. He heard the footsteps of the elves as they marched closer past him. As the sound grew louder, it stopped. The cat could hear voices.

"I smell something, comrades."

"What is it? We can't be long"

"I smell... Khajiit" At these words Alarik's heart began to beat twice as fast. He heard footsteps approach and the sound of someone crouching. Slowly, he looked up. He could see golden gaunlets gripping the edge of the overhang, crumbling the hard earth. The elf sniffed, long and hard. And again. Then he stood up and walked back to the group.

"See? Nothing." said the other elves.

"Well, where are we going to find the Khajiit who evaded our assassin?"

"Simple." said a third, slithering voice full of the promise of pain and death. "We have the traitor Faendal. We just need someone to tell dear Alarik that his friends life is at risk."

Alarik's heart tightened as he heard these words, and tightened even more as he realised these Thalmor were not a mere patrol, but a group of elites sent to find him! Then the sound of a limp body hitting the ground met his ears.

"No... Not Alarik." groaned the feeble and weakened voice of Faendal. That was the last straw for Alarik. His friends being put in danger. The angered Khajiit jumped up from below the overhang and drew his dagger.

"Well come get me, you Thalmor bastards!" he roared at the startled Thalmor. In response they drew long, wicked looking swords and moved towards Alarik like well oiled machines.


End file.
